


Rage

by lajulie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Gen, JediFest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 22:52:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13176888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lajulie/pseuds/lajulie
Summary: Leia finds her fury.Prompt: Leia, "Rage"





	Rage

There was no time for rage on the observation deck of the Death Star. Only disbelief, the firm grip of Vader’s glove, the screams within her, then the terrible silence.

The silence followed her back to her cell, to the hard slab where she laid down her broken body for what she’d assumed to be the last time. They’d figure out soon that Dantooine had been a lie, and execute her empty shell.

But the rage waited until there was hope, until the words “Ben Kenobi” escaped the blond boy’s lips, until she was trapped in a hallway with two hapless flyboys, a Wookiee, and one fewer blaster than they needed.

And then she had to put it away again, put it off, because screaming blindly until you were hoarse made it a little difficult to get away, and damned if her survival instincts had not reared their ugly heads again.

She must have buried it too well, because she couldn’t find it, couldn’t get it back afterward, after the briefing and the sendoff and the battle and the medals were all done. _Where was it?_ she wondered, as if looking for something she knew she’d brought along but couldn’t find in her suitcase. _It’s got to be here somewhere_.

There were bits of it at the blaster range, in her defiance of the order to go underground, in the ships she and Evaan stole to collect the remaining Alderaanians, in the plans and strategies she spent late nights devising. _In anger, seek justice_ , her father used to say, and she took that to heart. But it wasn’t enough.

In the end, it was that insufferable flyboy who helped her find it again. He pulled her away to his ship, after hours of first anniversary speeches and remembrances and ceremonies and polite condolences. Without a word, he poured her a shot of whiskey.

She threw it in his face, lambasting him for pulling her out of this very important function, and he stood there. Stood there silently, arms open, as she found her fury and released it on him in words, in wails, in the screams she had saved Force-knows-where for the last year, in sounds that seemed like they should be coming from some other being, in her fists pounding on his chest. His arms closed around her, holding her as she raged.

She wore herself out, and he continued to hold her. “Just—so—angry,” she choked out.

“Hells, yeah,” he said, his arms gentle but firm around her. “Hells, yeah.”


End file.
